Albion
by Italizzy
Summary: Post apocalypse AU. Arthur Kirkland, one of the sole survivors has built the kingdom of Albion from the ashes. Not everything lives up to his expectations and as always, there are those who live off another's suffering. Alfred Jones, a member of the Resistance, will do anything to change the way things are. But what happens when the queen isn't the monster he believed him to be?
1. Chapter 1

_Albion_

.x.

Acid rain pattered over the smooth yet soiled surface of the dome. The sweeping hemisphere stayed lumpy and heavy just at the top of a hill, too rugged to play-act the seat of a Court so antique and prestigious.

And yet there he was, the Queen of the kingdom itself, aimlessly erring beneath the glass dome in search of something that was long gone, maybe washed away by that poisonous drizzle that was beginning to get more and more insistent as the minutes went by.

Arthur Kirkland had lived long enough to recognize and remember that phenomenon. His reminiscences told him tales of endless fields and idyllic greenery, permeated with the gentle yet prickling odour of petrichor. It was an organic scent – pungent and rough enough to circulate through the air and steal its original perfume, yet refreshing and overwhelming, with just the right lightness to result vivid and faint at the same time.

_This_, however, was nothing like his memories. The ambiance was filled with the scent of rubber and chemicals, lacking a breeze that was too deadly to be even imagined.

The Queen had considered going out in the past and getting soaked in that refreshing moisture, but the simple thought of his eternally smooth and diaphanous skin dappled with yet another unknown disease had been grotesque enough to make him retract and shiver in distaste. Now, the sole thought of coming into contact with that breeze was, to put it simply, out of question.

The faint sound of rustling tore him away from his thoughts. Without striving to keep his composure, Arthur turned, raising an unimpressed eyebrow upon taking sight of the man in front of him. There stood the royal page – an unimpressive and fearful man whose name was too tedious to remember. With a natural gesture he knelt, head hung and face tight in a deferential attitude.

(Oh, how the Queen loved that gesture. It gave him the impression that, once in a while, he could be the puppeteer too).

"Your Majesty, sir," said the man, "your Highness is required in the fitting rooms."

Another raised eyebrow. "Fitting rooms?"

"Yes, sir. Do remember, sir, you are required to personally try the gas equipment before venturing in the restricted area." A pregnant pause, then, "...you do remember the monthly discourse in the seventh district, don't you, sir?"

The Queen let a sigh escape from his lips, then nodded curtly. "I do. Half past three, I believe."

When the page nodded once again, Arthur tightened the coat around him and twisted.

"I expect my carriage to be ready in half an hour. I'll meet you at the gates, _don't be late_."

"Yes sir. Don't worry, sir."

And with that, Arthur turned back, dragging himself past the sliding doors and entering the Palace.

x

It didn't require much intelligence to realize that the liquid falling from the sky was dangerous. All it took were the holes in the ground where the rain fell to comprehend the true face behind the bright colors. Death came in all shapes and sizes, and this acidic downpour was the most innocent looking by far.

Most people didn't notice anymore when the rain fell. What was there to take note of, anyway? Rain was a common enough phenomenon. You would wear your thickest coat and cover your head with whatever you came across and tried to make your way through the drops as quickly as possible. This was reality. There was nothing else.

Alfred, however, knew better. He had heard of a time when rain was considered a blessing, not a curse. A time when rain would help crops grow rather than kill them. Rain, hundreds of years ago, was pure and colorless a gift of life from the heavens. Or so his grandfather had told him.

Peering out the window, he narrowed his eyes at the pain it was causing those who were unfortunate to be caught outside, unprepared. As much as he felt their pain, though, Alfred knew that he couldn't let them in when they knocked on his door, begging for sanctuary. He couldn't save them. The moment they'd step into his home, he would be suffocated by the gas the acid always brought with it. Those people outside were a lost cause.

The ones inside were a different matter altogether. Their lives, Alfred hoped, he could save.

Bracing himself, he strapped his helmet on and made sure the rest of his attire was in place- the scarf covering his face, the heavy woollen coat his grandfather had left him and boots. He wasn't about to leave his health to chance, like he had before, when his life was a pointless existence of suffering, just like everyone else's. Now that he had a mission, he couldn't afford to die. Not yet.

Alfred glanced at the large clock hanging on the wall opposite him, blinking the time at him every so often. He frowned- he really ought to change the batteries. A minute of waiting rewarded him with the time: a quarter to three.

Swearing under his breath, Alfred rushed out of his house, locking the door hastily before running down the street, doing his best not to breathe in the fumes. If he didn't hurry, he'd miss the time slot he had been planning for over a week.

After all, his majesty only graced district seven with his presence once a month.

x

By the time the Queen stepped into his carriage of resin and glass, everything had already been meticulously settled. Armed guards in copper armours were following the coach in reverent silence in the guise of a funeral march, spears tightly clutched in their hands as if someone, amidst the kingdom of poor souls, would have enough strength to withstand a group of trained soldiers.

He could see it, past the armoured windows. His kingdom, risen from the ashes of ancient continents and forgotten civilisations, standing in all its glory despite the conflicts and the poison in the air. The innovative buildings he himself had moulded were decorating the withering landscape, silhouetted against a sky that was too violaceous to be pure. The first district was too artificial not to be an insult to nature, but at least people seemed to live somewhat happily.

However, the more time passed, the scrappier the scenery became. From district three on, buildings and futuristic constructions were no longer the protagonists, but just a corollary to abandoned plantations and decayed farms. It was painful to know that even mother nature gave up on those god forsaken districts, but Arthur knew that there were worse.

District five, for example, to which the carriage reached after an hour of travelling. It was the lieu of perdition, populated by lost souls who sought refuge in brothels, opium dens and mouldy taverns where they could drink and gamble until they were too consumed to move.

And then, there was district seven.

They reached it after another hour. By then, Arthur had revised his discourse at least three times, memorised it, and even adjusted his equipment whilst the guards were anchoring the carriage. A door was opened then, and he was allowed to step outside.

Beyond his visor, the Queen could clearly see how lost and unjust the situation was in that district. People were gathering – no, dragging themselves – around the newcomers, lamenting and bemoaning as if their saviour had just come to help them all in the blink of an eye. Arthur struggled to ignore them and the piles of agonising victims of the previous hour's downpour, but eventually managed to twist and climb onto the nearest high-ground, still accompanied by his armed escort.

"Dearest and loyal citizens," he began and did his best to conceal his self-disgust as he continued, pronouncing frivolous words that weren't even his.

x

Panting lightly, Alfred made it just in time for the beginning of the speech. A small crowd had already gathered in the plaza, looking tired and mildly interested in what the queen had to say. After all, what did it matter to the people of district seven what innovative ideas their queen had for them when everyone knew that all of these reforms and benefits would only be applied to the first three districts, at most? Nothing ever happened in district seven. Nobody ever cared enough to make anything happen.

Of course, if they could, the people would migrate by the thousands to the richer districts in order to make their fortunes, or at the very least live in the slums that were far healthier than the most well to do man's house in their own district. With the immigration police stopping people at every border though, traffic was limited and allowed no peasant into the wealthy districts without a pass issued by the governor.

Alfred pushed his way through the crowd, glancing up every so often at the man clad in a heavy insulated suit and a proper gas mask, standing on the small stage and lecturing the simple about progress they would never behold. Anger stained his cheeks, but he kept his goal in mind as he tore his eyes away in search of his comrades. Blue eyes met brown and with a short nod, Alfred knew what he needed to do. They were ready.

After all, if their plan succeeded, the queen wouldn't need his expensive suit every again.

It had been complicated, coming up with a foolproof plan with so many factors working against him- a heavy guard around the queen, lack of supplies and an essential lack of time, not to mention the suit the queen wore which protected him of any sort of chemical or explosion, which meant that bombs were out. Guns too.

That was why the plan wasn't to kill the queen. Oh no. They would use a smoke bomb and grab the man in the confusion and whisk him away. They would hold him ransom and demand enough money to rehabilitate district seven. Should something fail, they could always rid him of the suit and deal with him themselves.

_One, two three and-_

A scream, followed by a series of shouts and cries interrupted the queen's speech. A cloud of smoke surrounded the plaza. Smiling to himself, Alfred pushed through the panicked crowd towards the stage, straining to see through the thick screen of smoke. This was it- he couldn't screw this up.

"…And that is why, my loyal citizens, all we ought to do is_ believe–_"

The speech was trailed off by a sharp, shrill cry, but when Arthur turned to identify the source of that scream and found himself surrounded by dark gas, he began squinting and desperately trying to feel for the guards around him. It was all too familiar and vivid and unwanted memories began flowing through his mind - memories of a young man, desperate and lost amidst a hell of poison and vapour, chased by faceless and deformed monsters.

All seemed to go as planned those first few minutes. Alfred had found his way to the stage amidst the havoc and climbed up, pushing a nearby guard to the ground. He knew his comrade was waiting in the queen's carriage, if he had been successful in hijacking it. They both depended on each other to do their job well, or they'd both be goners.

It wasn't hard to locate the queen once he was on the stage. All Alfred had to do was to follow the dull screech of the microphone, having no voice to magnify. His blood was pumping audibly in his ears as he circled around the queen, waiting for the right moment to jump on him from behind.

Arthur's hand reached out and managed to clutch a spear , snatching it from the hands of yet another falling guard. He could do it, he told himself. This wasn't any different from what he did all those years ago, when he was nothing but a child with great hopes and expectations. Just as he felt _something_ sneak up behind him – _hell_, was he terrified – he turned around, tightening his grip on the spear and pointed the sharp blade towards whatever was in front of him while the dark gas began dissipating and his racing heart slowed down its frantic beats.

The smoke was thinning out. In a frenzy of panic, Alfred rushed forward despite the obvious disadvantage the position would put him in and reached out, stumbling to a halt once he realized that the queen was armed. Now _that _was something he hadn't counted on.

_Fuck, _he thought hurriedly, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a small dagger he had brought with him just in case. Weapons were hard to find in district seven, and a sharpened bone was nothing in comparison to an iron spear.

He met the queen's eyes, narrowing them as he noticed the fear fading in the other's gaze. It was hard to see him properly through the mask, but Alfred could _feel _the smirk the queen was giving him. No blade would be able to puncture through his suit.

Anger flowed through Arthur's system once he noticed what the _thing_ in front of him was.

He had expected anything – from one of the government's officers, to one of those people from _back then._ But never had he imagined that an offended-looking brat would go as far as to try to take his life away as if he were one of his defenceless friends from the filth that was district seven.

Sweat ran down Alfred's spine, but before he could run or attempt an attack, somebody jumped on him from behind and pushed him down onto the ground, keeping him down with a heavy boot and something sharp grazing his back.

Perfect.

Oh, how _dared_ he, Arthur thought- making the Queen feel such a pure and intense fear, when he was nothing but an useless boy whose parents hadn't evidently taught him manners. He was fully calm by then, a thirst for power and adrenaline filling his nerves as he pressed his boot further against the body into the ground, showing no mercy nor pity in his expression.

He knew it more than anyone else- boys like _this_ couldn't do the smallest necessary for that forsaken kingdom, let alone turn its institutions and policy upside down just by _kidnapping _(Arthur did struggle not to laugh at that) the mighty Queen.

The minutes Alfred spent on his stomach were the longest in his life. He had no control over the situation, which drove him mad with anxiety. The prevailing thought in his mind repeated itself constantly- _what is he waiting for?_

For whatever reason, the man pushing him down did nothing further than secure him to the ground. The wait was unbearable. Why wasn't he killing him? How long will he be made to lie like this on the faded wooden stage?

Arthur waited for a few tense minutes, savoring the power he had whilst blocking his unfortunate victim to the ground before he finally let out a sharp exhale and felt that he could speak without having his voice waver or stutter in lack of breath.

"Turn," ordered the Queen, in a murmured hiss. "Turn, and kneel at your Queen."

When the command did arrive, Alfred immediately wished he would have been forced to stay on the ground longer. There was nothing anybody could do to make him pay any sort of respect to the man who singlehandedly ruined his district. He had his standards, and not even the threat of death would make him betray his ideals. He had been willing to die when he had stepped out of his home earlier that day- death wasn't a problem.

He continued to lie on the ground, refusing to even turn as the queen had commanded him to. This tyrant didn't deserve to be obeyed in any form or style.

Several more minutes passed as the patient monarch waited for a response, gradually adding more pressure against the body on the ground to urge him to reply. When he heard nothing from the other man, though, he didn't let himself lose his composure and slowly twisted his head to the crowd, his amused yet bitter smirk growing.

The microphone had been long forgotten onto the ground, spreading a dull static sound in the air as if protesting, thus Arthur had to raise his voice in order to let _everyone_ hear what he was about to say. There was no way he'd let a disrespectful child ruin the respect he had in his (and only _his_) kingdom.

"This," he began, feeling his tone firm and powerful - just perfect. "This, my dear friends, is what happens whenever people like _him_-" He emphasized the last word with a light step over the young man's body, "- try to change the face of this country. You see, my loyal subjects, this is all a scam. Who, among you, thinks that if he succeeded this district would be a better place?" He sighed when he got no response. "Do be honest, I'm here for you."

When several bony hands raised, Arthur couldn't hold back a snicker.

"You see, I tell you nothing would've happened for this... _traitor_, is nothing but a leech. After he killed me, the sole creator of this glorious kingdom, he would try and take my throne.

"That's right, friends. People like him are not interested in improving your situation. They are not interested in _you_. All this man wants, I can assure you, is power. He wants access to the first district.

"...Are we going to let him do what he wants?"

And when a few heads shook and several people expressed their objections, Arthur knew he won.

With every denouncing word, Alfred felt his blood boil. It was once thing to die as a martyr and become a symbol for those he leaves behind, but it was another thing altogether to be executed as a power-hungry traitor, resented by his peers. The queen couldn't risk looking unpopular to even the lowliest of his people, and he would trample all over Alfred and twist his actions into something selfish in order to achieve his goals.

Well, Alfred wasn't going to lose his reputation without a fight.

"He lies!" he exclaimed as loud as he could, struggling from beneath the heavy weight on top of him. "All he wants is for you all to remain mindless slaves! He's afraid you'll rebel and create something better than his own rule! Don't let him fool you!"

He raised his head and searched the crowd with his eyes, meeting the people's gazes and doing his best to generate his conviction to them.

"Down with the monarchy!"

Arthur didn't think this man could have such an influence on his people but after the words he had spoken, it didn't take long for the Queen to realise the poor citizens of district seven would believe the stranger's words rather than his own.

But he knew - or rather, he was certain - that an act of force would just worsen the situation, and even if his army could easily subdue any revolt in the lower districts, he had no intention to harm his own people. They had already suffered enough.

Arthur allowed a few seconds of gnawing anxiety to pass, and eventually closed his eyes for a moment and sighed.

_Something better than his own rule_, the boy had said, and Arthur really wondered if there could be something better if he gave up his life, his throne and his power for good. Yet, he couldn't afford to look weak or even thoughtful in front of people whose consent towards him was slowly fading.

"Something better, you say?" asked Arthur, directly addressing the young man in his grasp. "And tell me, you filthy _leech_, does anyone here know how to manage a kingdom as great as this? Do you, young man, know anything about the world outside this district? This country would die under your rule. It would wither and fall, just like each of you.

_I_, however, am here to handle this. I'm here to handle you all, for this kingdom - no, this _district_, would be absolutely nothing without me and my rule. What I built, what I created, I can destroy."

Alfred refused to admit defeat. Had he thought that his last moments would be spent in a debate against the queen, he would have prepared a whole speech. The queen, bastard that he was, was winning over the crowd with every word. Who would they prefer to believe, after all? The winner or the soon to be executed loser?

It sickened Alfred. With a few minutes of smooth talking, the queen was able erase a lifetime of suffering. The people would feast on his words and then would return to an empty home and wonder how they were to put food on the table. How was this possible? How could they all be so _gullible? _

He opened his mouth, quickly trying to think up some sort of charismatic retort when he was roughly lifted to his feet and gagged by a soldier. Another guard yanked his hands behind his back and bound them together tight enough to cut off the blood flow.

"Your majesty, we apprehended this terrorist's partner who was waiting in your car," one of the men said, kneeling in front of the queen. "I'm afraid I must insist that you return now to the palace in order to secure your safety- there might be another attack at any given moment."

Alfred felt his heart pound furiously with adrenaline and worry. What had they done to Rex? Was he dead already? Oh, he never should have suggested this, much the less gone through with it. Now not only were the people openly supporting the queen- his best friend was most likely killed. This was all his fault.

The spear Arthur was pointing at the young man was slowly lowered, until he finally let his guard down and let his soldiers take care of the rest. He nodded then, and his gaze flickered on the young rebel held captive in front of him.

For the first time in hundred of years, the Queen felt sorry. He felt sorry for having crushed fresh and innovative ideals so mercilessly - but the boy needed to open his eyes, after all. There was no such thing as a utopian kingdom, at least not with the current situation. But the rebel wasn't to be blamed, and Arthur knew it - what could such a young man understand about that world? There just was nothing he or anyone else could do.

After yet another solicitation, he turned around and began making his way to his carriage, steps firm and confident as he stepped alongside one of the guards, careful not to walk too close to the prisoner.

"I'll deal with him," he told the armoured man, briefly glancing behind him. "You may free the other one, he won't do anything. This is an order."

After he was certain the man had given him a clear nod in response, Arthur walked away and climbed into his coach, gesturing for the guards to lead the prisoner inside.

Looking back, Alfred would have reproached himself for not thinking of escaping when he was being led towards the queen's carriage. There had been quite a few opportunities for kneeing or shoving his way free and running the fastest he could towards freedom. Instead, he had been caught in his relief of seeing Rex unharmed and uncuffed. At least he was alright. It never occurred to him to wonder why he was being led away while his friend was let free.

No, all of his curiosity and resentment were focused on the queen. He was to ride alongside him in a _carriage. _Alfred had never even been on a bike, much the less such an extravagant vehicle. Why on earth was he being allowed to join the queen in the royal carriage instead of trailing behind on foot like the criminal he was?

Frowning, he let himself be pushed into the carriage and took a seat opposite the queen, doing his best not to meet his gaze and instead looked through the window. If this was his last day in district seven, he wanted to see as much of it as possible.

It took a while for the guards to secure the entrance and make sure the air in the carriage was purified, but eventually the operations were concluded and the coach started moving. Arthur did his best to ignore the man in front of him, and very slowly began removing his heavy equipment.

Piece after piece the safety armour was removed and the Queen was finally able to rest his head against the side of the carriage - not a very aristocratic gesture, he knew, but there was no chance the prisoner would comment on that. He just felt old and tired.

Arthur didn't want to spend two hours contemplating the poverty of his country, and after a quick glance to the man in front of him, he closed his eyes.

"Keep looking out," he ordered. "I want you to see _everything_. Look away, and you'll be executed."

Alfred couldn't understand the reasoning behind the queen's order, but he obeyed anyway. After all, he had no intention on looking at the other man, who was a tyrannical liar (after all, he was going to be executed anyway. What did it matter if he should spare the man a glance?).

Despite himself, there were times when Alfred was tempted to look away. He could _feel _the anguish rising from the dead lands surrounding the road. The people who stopped what they were doing to gape in awe at the passing carriage looked threadbare and starved. This was nothing new to Alfred, but seeing it all from this new vantage point felt like the queen was adding insult to injury.

As they progressed, the scenery changed. The land took on a darker shade of green and the buildings were constructed from iron and stone rather than the wood and mud Alfred was used to seeing. The people looked happier, fuller and content. Everyone had some sort of protection surrounding them as they ventured outside. Stores glittered in the late afternoon sun and beckoned patronage for their newest gadgets and gourmet pastries when in district seven, a man would pay a fortune on the black market for a loaf of bread.

As fascinating as this all was, Alfred had to fight the urge to look away. He _hated _these people who had never worked for anything in their whole privileged life.

Despite his closed eyes and his lack of attention during the voyage, Arthur knew exactly what his prisoner was seeing, and could easily imagine what he was feeling.

He, himself, knew his kingdom by heart. He had visited each of the seven districts, both in official visits and undercover ones, and had felt the very same feeling of disappointment he was certain the young man was experiencing during their journey. However, during the past years he stopped torturing himself with those pointless thoughts and ideals of equality and legality and found himself wishing that those voyages were as short as possible.

He was the same as that man, after all. Forced to stay seated in a place that didn't fit him, and forced to _see_ as the ones they loved suffered while, should they have been born someplace else, they could have had the opportunity to live happily. And the worst thing above all was that they could do nothing about it.

The carriage was still moving down the streets of district two when Arthur finally decided to crack his tired eyes open and glance at the man in front of him. Just this once, when there was no one to hear, he could afford to speak somewhat openly.

"You may look at what you wish now," said the Queen, and reluctantly shifted in his seat to reach out and untie the gag behind the back of the man's head. He would put it back just before going out.

"But... answer me. What do you feel, young man?"

Glad for a reason to avert his gaze from the window, Alfred turned his head back to the queen, starting when he saw the man's arms reaching out towards him. He stiffened in his seat as the queen untied the rag from behind his head, making sure to give the other a look of pure loathing in order to make up for any gratitude he might feel for being given the ability to speak again.

The question took him by surprise. He couldn't figure out the motive behind it. Nevertheless, he had always been compelled to voice his opinion at any opportunity, and now that he had been explicitly asked for it, who was he to protest?

"I am disgusted by the way you run this kingdom. How you choose to provide for some but neglect others for no other reason but geographical distance. I detest the way the people here live a healthy and fulfilling life while the people in my district suffer every day in order to simply _live. _But most of all, I can't understand why somebody with so much wealth isn't donating some of it to those who have nothing. That's what I think."

While the other spoke, Arthur had his gaze lowered and began fiddling with the rag in his hands, shuffling and folding it in an attempt to look nonchalant and uncaring to the man's words.

With a frown, he realised that the gag that had been used was part of his embroidered tapestries- but more important, he realised that the answer to his question hurt in a bitter and stinging way.

The young prisoner, after all, was perfectly right, and Arthur knew it better than anyone else. It was unjust, it was sad, it was unfair. Yet, all he could do was nod his head and take the blame, hold on until his subjects and his own mind were too weary to keep protesting and eventually their laments died down.

"And I am disgusted by how much of a simpleton you are," was the firm and derisive answer.

"Judging me and my actions when you know nothing about the world you live in. Tell me, what do you even know about this kingdom? Do you know who founded it, _how_ they founded it, do you know about its history? Do you know about its economy, its weak and strong points? Have you even heard about its institutions and government system?" His voice grew in amusement as he asked one question after another, until he let out a slight snicker.

"You know nothing, do you? And yet here you are, judging us and _our _homeland."

Alfred's cheeks flushed red with anger and embarrassment. Those were hardly fair questions. "I don't care about any of that," he exclaimed, leaning forward slightly in conviction. "District seven isn't part of all of that. Or maybe we are, but instead of getting any of the benefits, we're suffering the kingdom's loss."

He shifted in his seat, flexing his fingers behind him. "Besides, how would you expect me to know about those things? You never bothered to fund a school in my town."

"I never _bothered_-" It was Arthur's turn to flush in anger. For a moment his mind seemed to have gone wild, ordering him to spill everything he knew, to explain to that man that he could do nothing about their suffering, to kneel down and beg for mercy because of the lives he had destroyed and crushed, the lands he'd ruined, the hope he, himself, had made sure to let wither.

The Queen took a deep breath - _one, two, three_, and he was calm again. He needed to keep his composure and couldn't let a complete stranger (oh, did he hate him) peer into the feelings he'd kept hidden inside him for so long.

It was then that Arthur decided that the rebel had talked too much and without thinking twice about it, he gagged him again and allowed a tight scowl to form on his face as his gloved hand landed against the man's cheek in a resounding blow.

"Stay in your place, _filth_," he hissed, leaning back in his seat just as the vehicle stopped.

Really, Alfred didn't expect for him to get away with his rudeness. After all, he was speaking back to the _queen. _Nevertheless, the slap stung and the sharp words hurt. Despite their personal enmity, the queen was still his leader. He was supposed to take care of him, not starve and insult him.

He used to believe in God, but what sort of deity placed a man such as the queen on the throne?

He sat back and waited for the door to be opened. It came as a shock when the queen stepped out into the fresh air without any sort of protection. Once he had been yanked out as well, however, Alfred looked around him and realized that there was a giant dome encompassing the entire palace grounds, most likely keeping out any sort of toxic fumes.

He took in a deep breath- the air was completely clean. Alfred had never inhaled something so pure.

Shaking his head in wonder, he almost didn't notice how he was being led into a small building adjoin to the palace. The hallway was dimly lit and held an ever-present chill within its stones. His handcuffs and gag were removed before being pushed roughly into a small metallic cell with an automatic gate that closed after him.

He was a prisoner, but he had never been in such a sleek place in his life.

* * *

_Reviews? ':D_


	2. Chapter 2

Once he was sure the prisoner was securely locked into a cell, Arthur felt relieved of the heavy burden on his shoulders and slowly walked into the safety of his palace where he could finally rest and forget about _that person_... at least for a while.

Before he reached his quarters, though, the Queen made sure to clearly expound his rules in regards of the man in the cell. He ordered his guards to reinforce the security in the prison and to quarantine the man inside, just in case he was suffering from one of the many diseases that circulated through the lower district - he couldn't let any illness spread through the palace ground, after all. He then decided he would personally take care of the prisoner the following day, after a good rest and a warm bath.

While he lightly brushed his hand against the recognition mechanism next to the door of his private room, Arthur wondered what to do with the stranger. It was true that the man's plan didn't succeed and no one was actually hurt during the attack, but he just _couldn't_ release him without a proper lesson.

But as much as he wanted the young rebel to pay for the affront he suffered, the Queen knew it wouldn't be fair to execute him. Not... _directly_, at least. He considered selling him to the fifth district (they were always in need of new personnel, especially in the brothels and taverns) or having him live in the palace labs as a guinea pig for the testing of new chemicals - another necessary thing for his kingdom.

As the sliding doors finally parted and Arthur was allowed to step inside his room (he needed to accelerate the recognition process), he decided to forget about the prisoner for a few hours and rest.

He would wait for the results of the blood tests, he decided, and then establish his disposition for the man's punishment.

.x.

Alfred would never say it aloud, but being a prisoner in the queen's palace was better than living a free life in district seven. Fresh air, three meals every day and a soft cot- what else could a man wish for?

After weeks of starvation and the excitement at the monthly discourse, these days of peace and quiet came as a blessing for Alfred. At one point, perhaps in a few days, he may desire freedom or even company but at the moment, he was perfectly content in staying just the way he was.

However, there had been an unpleasant constraint at the very beginning. Mere hours after he had been brought in, Alfred had been roughly manhandled into a thorough cleaning process. The men around him wore long white robes and sanitary masks as they washed him with special concoctions Alfred had never seen before and with the way they treated him, he felt more like a diseased animal than a normal human being.

By the time they allowed him to dress again (in a new set of clothing, which felt heavenly soft), Alfred had concluded that that might have just been the most humiliating event in his life as of yet.

In what appeared as an afterthought, Alfred had been strapped down into a chair and punctured with a needle. The pain was quickly forgotten as Alfred's attention was focused on the deep red liquid that was flowing so smoothly from his body into some vial. Once the procedure was done, all Alfred wanted was to be left alone.

And left alone he had been. It had been days since he'd seen anyone aside from his jailor. He was beginning to wonder if the queen might have forgotten about him, after all.

.x.

The few days Arthur had spent in solitude were rather calm. After the discourse in district seven and the failed revolt, he had been allowed to take some days off to rest and take care of the bureaucratic issues. The hours spent among books and chemical infusions yielded their benefits, and Arthur was able to forget about the problems caused by the young rebel from district seven.

That was, until a few men began frantically knocking at his door on a Saturday morning.

The Queen was up by then and although his annoyance grew after being disturbed in such a rude manner, he climbed out of bed with a growl and typed a code in the nearby panel to open the sliding doors, only to frown when he was met with the sight of three men in white tunics. The serious expressions the doctors had and the thick stack of papers one of them was holding were enough to make Arthur worry, seriously so, about the safety of his country.

The doors were locked behind him as the men stepped inside without even asking for permission, and accommodated themselves in the Queen's chamber with agitated and preoccupied gestures.

It didn't take long for the doctors to explain the reason behind their sudden visit. Something was _wrong_, terribly so, with the newcomer. While the tests had revealed no trace of diseases or hazardous agents, the blood analysis revealed something rather... _peculiar_ about the man's genes.

Arthur asked the doctors to repeat; once, twice, until they thought their Queen was becoming old and forgetful (_how hilarious,_ he noted with bitter irony), but each time he heard the same words being pronounced over and over again, he couldn't help but gape at the three men in front of him.

It wasn't possible. He had been convinced that none of _them_ were left.

With a newfound wave of anger and anxiety, Arthur didn't wait for the physicians take their leave and stormed out of his quarters, rushing to the royal prison with firm and heavy steps, repeating to himself that _it was all a mistake_ all the while.

Alfred looked at his reflection in satisfaction. The metallic image of himself smiling back at him from the iron wall was somewhat distorted, but it was accurate enough to reflect what he had been suspecting for the past few hours- he had gained weight. Just a little bit really, considering the short amount of time he'd been on his new diet, but it had been radical enough a change to pad his stomach and legs with a thin layer of fat. He was still scrawny and malnourished, but at least he didn't look as much of a human wreck as he did when he had entered the prison.

Raised voices interrupted his train of thought. The door quickly slid open and in stormed an enraged queen, glaring daggers at him. Startled, Alfred turned to face the man fully and squared his jaw. His first human contact in days was off on a bad start.

"You," the queen addressed him with a hiss. "Name, age, provenance. Be _detailed_, or I'm getting you executed right now."

"Alfred," he said shortly after quickly assessing that giving his name wouldn't cause much harm in the long run. "Alfred F. Jones. I'm not exactly sure how old I am or what my origins are, but I think I'm a few years into the second decade of my life."

He shuffled in his place, trying to think of anything else the queen might consider as relevant details. "I was raised by my grandfather, who wasn't originally from the seventh district. He died three years ago. My parents were killed in a chemical induced arson a few months after I was born."

He straightened his back and met the queen's eyes hesitantly. Why did he look so troubled?

Arthur's anxiety grew even more when he heard the approximate information about the man. When their gazes met, his face tightened and in a quick movement he reached out and clutched the prisoner by the collar, tugging him closer.

"What do you mean, _not exactly sure_?" he asked frantically, his preoccupied eyes looking straight into the other's before he realised he was acting too temperamental and impulsive and slowly released his grip on the fabric.

With a softly spoken curse he took a few steps back and turned around, quickly brushing his fingertips over the black diskette pressed against his right temple to make a visor lit in azure appear .

Arthur needed to know if the government had been informed of their little problem. If they knew, the young man would be in trouble.

It took a while for the Minister to respond, but eventually the Queen's radio call received an answer.

"_Ah, look if it isn't our old Queen! Tell me, my friend, how come-"_

"Cut it off, did they inform you?"

"_They did. Two days ago, actually."_

Arthur seemed to puff out in anger. "Why wasn't I informed before? This is a _gargantuan_ problem!"

"_A...?"_

A sigh, "A tremendous problem."

"_Not a great deal, my friend, rest assured."_

"How can you say that?"

"_We can dispose of him very easily."_

Arthur glanced back at the man behind him, when he felt a sudden wave of guilt rush through him. "But he is innocent-!"

"_So were the others."_

"This isn't- I oppose!"

"_Not a great deal either."_

"I am serious!" Arthur cried, furious. "And furthermore, we can't let such information leak!"

"_Then try to find another way."_

"This is preposterous-!" The line was cut off, and with an infuriated growl he removed his visor and smashed it against the ground.

Alfred watched the exchange with wide eyes, doing his best to overcome the cultural shock of seeing such advanced technology and to focus on what was being said. Apparently, something about him was causing an uproar, enough for the queen and government to fret over him. From being an anonymous citizen among millions in the poorest district, he had become what looked to be a national problem.

He wasn't sure if to bless the stars or curse them.

Something was said about getting rid of him, but aside from the slight shiver of apprehension, Alfred didn't dwell on it. He had been waiting to die for days already- the notion of an execution was a familiar idea to cling to while everything around him had become chaotic. Whatever he had to go through, at least the end would be clear.

What surprised him amidst it all was the queen's behavior. One minute he was storming into his cell, demanding and threatening and a moment later he was bartering with the prime minister over Alfred's life.

What on earth was going on?

Impatient and unwilling to remain in the dark any longer, Alfred stepped forward and cleared his throat with an anger tinted nervous look.

"Look, I don't know why my name or heritage should matter to anyone, but if it does, I'd like to know why. I mean, if you're going to execute me because of it rather than because my assault, I have the right to know what I'm being punished for."

Upon hearing the man behind him speak, Arthur turned around, brows furrowed in a scowl and a furious glint in his eyes.

"Address me properly," he ordered, slowly stressing each word. "And stop assuming you have any sort of right here. Nay, if you keep blabbering I'm selling you to a damned _bordello_ in district five and will leave you there for the rest of your life- the pay may be good, but you catch the worst diseases there."

Alfred would have denied it later on, but his face had turned a pale shade of grey when he heard the queen's latest threat. Not that he had ever heard the word bordello before, but from the tone and the job description, Alfred could figure it out pretty easily. When he had calculated the risk of assaulting royalty, spending the rest of his life in a brothel hadn't even been in the equation.

Taking a step back, the Queen pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to come up with a solution.

They could always get rid of the boy and pretend nothing had happened, but Arthur preferred to use him to his own advantage and finally solve his own personal problem - the government wouldn't approve of it, but he knew they couldn't oppose too openly to his orders. He still had enough power to blackmail them and reduce their kingdom to ashes.

Though, he couldn't afford taking hasty decisions at the moment. With a slightly disgusted grimace, he walked over and sat down on the only cot in the cell, a gloved hand brushing over the spot beside him to invite the prisoner to sit down.

"Sit down, _lad_," said Arthur. "You need to enucleate a few things. If your explanations satisfy me, I'm going to tell you what's going on. I need you to tell me _everything_ you know about the arson that killed your family."

Frowning, Alfred gingerly took a seat on the cot, pointedly making sure that there was a considerable distance between him and the queen. He pursed his lips and wondered what would be considered enough information to sate the other's interest without revealing too much.

"My parents were scientists who worked in a government lab in district three," he said stiffly, measuring out his words cautiously. "I was given to my uncle's family after the arson, but they ran away for some reason and left me with my grandfather. When I was six he said that it wasn't safe for us where we were living, so we kept moving into different areas and finally in between districts until we reached district seven, where I have lived for over five years. He never told me why we had to move so often."

He narrowed his eyes and watched the queen from the side of his eyes. Would he be able to pick out the truth from the mass of lies? Or would he just swallow it as it had been told?

After all, he was no fool. He wasn't about to tell the queen anything that would incriminate him or the Resistance further.

Arthur listened silently as the other man spoke, his eyes fixated onto the ground in a pensive expression. He took in the information and contemplated the details very carefully, knowing that a prisoner (and a rebel no less) would easily lie in such a situation, even upon being solicited with horrid threats. After all, how could the Queen of Albion know about the private life of a single human being in the poorest district of the kingdom?

A small, sly smirk tugged the corners of Arthur's lips upwards before he twisted just enough to be able to look at the man next to him without being too uncomfortable. The poor soul had been unfortunate - the Queen had visited every single authorised laboratory in the first five districts, and had an easy way to know if the stranger was telling the truth about the arson or just lying bluntly.

"Tell me, lad, have you ever heard about Lady Greensleeves?" He asked, and without waiting for an answer - he was certain it would be negative, anyway - he continued; "It is a mammoth... _brain _headquartered in the first district. Several legends circulate about it- some say it has been moulded by the first Queen himself, some other say it's the venue of the whole history and economy of the entire kingdom. One thing I can tell you for sure, lad, is that only the Queen has free access to the Brain."

Arthur waited long enough to see the weary expression intensify on the prisoner's face before continuing. "What I am trying to say, essentially, is that I can easily find out if there has ever been an arson in the third district. I can check and test every information you gave me right now. And if I find a single lie in your testimony, then consider yourself either dead or sold."

With a small nod and a satisfied smile, Arthur stood.

"Anything else you would like to share?"

Silent, Alfred shook his head. He had expected to get away with his lie, but it was possible that this information device was just something the queen invented in order to scare him into revealing any sort of information he might have left out or lied about. Either way, whatever punishment he'd receive for lying (should they ever find out, that is), he'd take it with dignity. The truth wasn't his to tell.

"No, _sir,"_ Alfred forced a small smile. "Now, will you tell me about this new problem that concerns me?"

Upon seeing the small smile on the prisoner's face and after hearing his respectful epithet for the Queen, Arthur had no doubts he had lied, at least about minor details. He returned the smile in a sickening sweet manner, and nodded.

"The issue is, lad, that we found your looks too dashing for our kingdom. Too much beauty is not to be contemplated in a sole human being."

And with a grimace, he turned on his heels and left.

.x.

After the queen freshened up, he wasted no time and began barking orders here and there, commanding the guards and the government officers to get everything ready for him to enter into the room of the Brain.

The procedure had always been tediously long (another thing he needed to speed up), but it was worth it - more than it had ever been. He was infuriated, curious, and rather eager to give the man a proper punishment; so much that whilst he waited for the keys to be found and the doors to be unlocked, he began pondering over which method of torture would be best for that lying nuisance in his prison.

When the armoured sliding doors finally parted and Arthur was allowed to step into the room, he made sure no one was following him - damned minister and his executives - and locked himself in. He hadn't entered that chamber in years, yet he could remember it perfectly, from the opaque lights that adorned the room in blue to the large plot of thick wires that rested in the middle. A light pressure of his palm against the sensor of the small screen just before the wires activated the mechanism, that started to glint in various specks in the guise of synapses.

Arthur stayed locked inside the room for over four hours, and when he stormed out, the glower on his face was inhuman. Again, he gave up manners and began hissing orders to _anyone_ (were they rolling their eyes at him?) he could find, threatening them and demanding them to quickly bring syringes, chemicals, whatever sharp objects they could find, and a sturdy pair of handcuffs.

When he was certain he had gathered enough supplies, the Queen immediately made his way into the prison - struggling to do so with all the objects in his hands - and _politely_ asked everyone to remain as far from the cell as possible.

He didn't want anyone to overhear the cries of a man twisting in agony.

.x.

Alfred paced the floor of his cell, restless. The unnatural quiet was beginning to get to him after all this time and the waiting for something to _happen _was nerve wrecking. He wondered how long it would take for the queen to find out that he had been lying. He wondered even further how long it would take for him to punish him.

When the queen stormed into his cell, Alfred stilled and stared at the man, quickly folding his arms across his chest and studying the other carefully. By his expression and armful of what looked to be torture tools, it was obvious that the queen knew and what he intended to do.

He swallowed.

"Not very queenly, are you, doing all the dirty work yourself," Alfred quipped, leaning back against the wall with an attempt of a confident smile. "I guess I should be honored."

At that, Arthur dropped all the items he was carrying and hurried over the prisoner, quickly wrapping his hands around the man's throat as he gave him a death glare.

"You have no idea," he hissed out, tightening his grip around his prey's windpipe. "Dirty work is the _absolute_ best. Especially if it's filth like you we're talking about. Did you really think I wouldn't find out? How foolish of you."

The corners of his lips curled upwards in a satisfied grin. "Spit it out already, young man. You may have no value, but I'm fairly certain you don't want your friends to be hurt in any way, do you? You know, I still remember the lad we encountered in my carriage."

Alfred's hands immediately went up to the queen's, digging his nails in the back of the hands that were choking him. He managed to pry them away from his throat and with a low growl, he shifted his weight so that the queen was forced forward. Quickly, he grabbed the man's arms and slammed him against the wall, pinning his wrists over his head.

"Who said I have any friends? I don't care about you, this kingdom, or anybody in it. If somebody decided to help me that night, it was his own stupid idea. You," Alfred tightened his grip over the queen's wrist, "are not god. Stop trying to play one."

Arthur's eyes squeezed shut as his back hit the wall, but he quickly began trying to yank his arms away from the man's grip. When he realised it was no use, though, he gave up struggling and instead raised his head to look into the other's eyes, still glaring as he wondered how a malnourished man was so much stronger than him.

"I have never claimed to be a god," was his response, oddly calm for such a situation. "But you saw that, young man. You saw the wonders of this kingdom - the kingdom _I_ have created and managed for years. Go ahead, throttle me and leave me here. Do it if you have the courage to condemn the whole country and make it burn into ashes. Crush me in your hands if you want this place to die - I have wanted this for a long time."

Arthur met his eyes. "I'm not stopping you. Go ahead and condemn everyone to hell."

Alfred wavered, if only for a moment. He had seen the kingdom as they rode by in the queen's chariot. While he had never attended school properly, every citizen in Albion knew that their kingdom had been built out of ashes after the apocalypse. For a split second Alfred wondered if the queen in front of him was indeed the one who had put enough land together and created life.

If he had done that, then why was he so intent on ending it?

His grip slackened slightly. "Listen, I didn't come here to try to kill you. If you want to die, do it yourself." Alfred bit his lip and pulled away, letting go of the other man. "What you did in the past was amazing, but that doesn't excuse you from doing your best in the present. If you can't do the job, you should find somebody who can. Not a corrupt government that exploits people. That's all."

Arthur's arms came to rest against his side as his wrists were released, but other than that he made no other movements. Slowly, his gaze moved downwards until he was staring at the floor as he thought about what the young man had said, over and over.

It was all true, the Queen concluded, foolishly so. Yet, it was unbelievable how young minds worked- they eradicated any problem from its context and claimed to find a quick and simple solution to it, while the issue was way more complicated than it seemed.

And it was also true that Arthur had wanted to disappear for a long time, but he knew better. He was certain that, if he died, the minister would take over and reduce everything he had done into dust.

"It cannot be done when evil is rooted," he responded, his voice strangely quiet. There _had_ to be a way to find someone -_anyone_- who could manage his beloved kingdom and finally let him rest.

Then, suddenly, his eyes widened and he glanced back up at the man in front of him. _Jackpot._

Whatever it was that had plagued the queen when he had entered his cell seemed to have quieted down, Alfred observed. With a small sigh he sat down on his cot, looking up doubtfully at the queen.

"I wouldn't go as far as to say that everything that's going on is _evil, _per say. Just... badly managed. I can't say that I'd do a better job since I'd hate having so much responsibility and I don't know the first thing about handling anything, but I'm sure there are some good people out there who are just waiting to be given the opportunity to make changes."

With the immediate threat gone, Alfred felt comfortable enough to lay back on the cot and stare up at the ceiling. Maybe, if he were lucky, the queen would just let him go and he'd be able to return home. He didn't have anybody waiting for him, granted, but at least he'd be able to apologize to Rex about botching everything up.

And who knows? Maybe his little speech would inspire the queen to improve. That's what he'd wanted from the very start, in a roundabout way.

While the boy's words were truthful, Arthur felt a rush of annoyance through him at how easy his interlocutor was making it. Did he really think that managing a kingdom as big as this just required good will and ideals? The thought of such foolishness made him cringe.

For one, there were too many interrogations. It all began with a revolt (and that enough should've been the apogee of problems), but then it quickly evolved into something even _bigger_ and more terrifying. What if, among his lies, the man was hiding the existence of others like him? And what if he lied just because he actually _knew_ about his peculiarity, and was waiting for the best moment to take over the Queen himself? And again, what if the prisoner was sent by the government itself?

He needed to know. And he was certain that the key to the problem lied into this man's past.

That's why, Arthur decided, he would try to get as close to him as possible and get him to reveal the truth about him and his genes. Then, after his problems were solved, he could take the plunge and let him stay - or, if he wasn't good enough as a monarch, he could dispose of him very easily.

"...Why don't you give it a try?" The Queen offered, much calmer now that he had found a solution. "I can... give you the power to rule beside me for a while. No one will know who you are or where you come from, I will make sure. And I will personally take care of your education."

He couldn't have possibly heard right. Brows raised, Alfred quickly sat up and openly stared at the other man. "This is some trick, isn't it?" he frowned, glaring at the queen. "Some new sort of mental torture, isn't it? Well, I'm not falling for it. I just told you- I don't want to be in charge of anything. I'm not doing anybody's job for them."

Alfred shook his head tiredly. "Besides, why would you want someone like me to rule with you? Listen, all I want to do is just go back home. I swear I won't try to hurt you again or whatever. I could even find someone for you if you're so keen on getting help. Just leave me out of it, please."

"You truly are one of the most deplorable human beings I've ever met," Arthur responded promptly, returning the glare and the unfriendly look.

"Just look at you. Just a day ago you were ready to give up your life to kill me - or kidnap me, it doesn't make a difference - and _now_, you are escaping the only possibility you have to change things. It is not a joke, I can assure you. I thought it was clear that all I ever wanted was to make this kingdom greater than any other, and if you are so positive that you have the right motivations and ideas to improve the condition of your friends, then _try._ Do your best, for once."

The queen continued, staring at Alfred accusingly. "I am offering you the possibility to change the face of this world, and yet you are refusing it just because it looks too important a job for a brat like you. If you think that being beside me as a monarch would be so difficult, then _imagine_ how hard it was for me and just _stop_ contradicting me and what I did when you are willing to do nothing concrete to change your situation. You looked like you _loved_ this kingdom, but I was mistaken. You are just a pathetic nullity."

The last words were pronounced with such bitterness and rancour that the Queen felt his voice waver just slightly, and clenched his fists. Screw his plan, he would free the brat and let him do whatever he wanted in the hellish pit that was district seven. That was what he deserved.

"Maybe I'm refusing it _because _I love this kingdom! Maybe I want what's best for it, which isn't me!" Alfred exclaimed, anger coloring his face. "Or maybe I'm intelligent enough to require some time to think about something so big! Have you ever thought about that, your highness? Not everyone are used to making life changing decisions in a heartbeat!"

Sighing in frustration, Alfred rounded up on the queen, effectively pinning the man back to the wall with his eyes. "I'll think about your offer, if it still stands. I just need some time to think about it. I know that I probably sound crazy for not exchanging a life you'd consider worthless into something glamorous and meaningful, but it's still _my _life. I think it would be fair to allow me to get used to the idea of such a radical transformation before agreeing to it."

Arthur stayed silent for a while, his annoyed scowl only growing as he felt the man's scrutinising gaze on him. This bloke bothered him, he decided, with his extremely simplistic way of dealing with problems and his incoherence when it came to reach a conclusion. He'd have to change that if the lad was to become his puppet.

"I'm not here to judge you or your _crazy_ choices," he said, striving to sound magnanimous and calm. "Like I said, I'm just offering you a possibility. If your actions satisfy me, then you may stay here full time, and replace me when the time comes. I've been thinking about a successor anyway – you've seen that, lad, people in the lower classes are starting to dislike me, and I'm certain that it won't be long until somebody smarter than you manages to organise a proper conjure and get rid of me. You see, I'm doing it for my citizens. But it is fair that I grant you some time to think about the offer." At that, Arthur smiled slightly, in what he hoped was an affable manner.

"How does a week sound?"

An amused smile spread across Alfred's face before he could stop himself. "Replace you? _You? _I swear you're older than my grandfather and don't look a day over thirty!"

"Older than your grandfather?" Arthur echoed, his lips curling in an amused smile. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're talking about, lad. I'm merely above twenty-seven."

Now that Alfred thought about it, the kingdom was rather old. He didn't know how old it was _exactly, _but Alfred's feeling was that it was much older than a human's normal lifespan. Oh, over a hundred years for sure. If the queen had been the one to create it, however... it didn't make sense. Maybe all of the queens simply referred to their predecessors as themselves. Some sort of of metaphorical royal 'we'.

"Anyway, yeah, that sounds good," Alfred nodded, offering a small smile in return. "I appreciate it."

With a laugh, Arthur began picking up the items he had dropped after he stormed into the cell, strangely cheerful-looking.

"You see, young man, this kingdom is a rather odd one - several legends circulate regarding the monarchs. Lore says, for one, that the first Queen was nothing but a gigantic _monster_ that keeps haunting every candidate to the throne. It is said to eat their body up and transfer their soul into this... shell." Another cheerful laugh, and Arthur turned around.

"Peculiar, isn't it? I'll see you in a week, lad - _Alfred_, was it?"

Without waiting for an answer, the Queen opened the armoured doors and left, replacing his affable smile with an unsavoury grin once he was out of sight.

* * *

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